I understood you in your silence, an ocean of ice under mute stars
I understood you in your silence, an ocean of ice under mute stars,
where the shadows of time weigh heavily, a mountain of unspoken ash,
your struggles, heavy curtains, hide cries of a shattered heart,
shards of fallen stars, scattered on fields forgotten by the wind.
Your nights, sleepless, just broken mirrors in which you get lost,
you see yourself and no longer know who you are, a wounded soldier under a dew armor,
moving forward, for the war never sleeps, and the world demands you to be whole,
when you are merely fragments, a crystal vessel broken in silence,
an empty church, deserted by angels, with walls whispering extinguished longings.
Your scars, maps of pain on thin porcelain skin,
unspoken wounds, covered with petals of time and forgetting,
you flinch when love flies toward you, a bird scared by shadows,
unsure if the hand reaching out will caress you or bind you in chains.
Your eyes close at "I love you," echoes of broken promises,
hands that vanished into mist, voices lost in the emptiness of morning,
when you cried out, and your heart, a desert, awaited a response that never came.
But if I hadn't read the architecture of your pain, built from dried tears,
from dreams buried under slabs of cold, I wouldn't have known how to love you,
not to fix you, not to glue the pieces with the patience of a watchmaker,
but to carefully hold in my palms the broken treasures of your soul,
your withered flowers, your broken songs, smiles frozen in time,
yellowed photographs, loves carried away like smoke in the late autumn wind.
I keep them as sacred relics of a storm-beaten soul,
yet beautiful, for it knows how to love, to hope, to rise from the ashes.
You are a breathing miracle, a poem written every day,
with every step, with every wound, with every yearning that refuses to die,
and I love you not for what you were, but for what you are: a fragile light,
burning under a heavy sky, an unspoken, eternal verse of hope.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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